Rubbish
by Thinking Without Speaking
Summary: Dirk Strider has a chance meeting with a certain Jake English. From inside a trash can. Not the greatest turn of events.


He tossed on an orange hoodie, then his friend's pink jacket for good measure. As used to Texas as he was, Seattle might as well have been a tundra.

The snowflakes drifted down lazily, flaunting their beauty to the sky. Unwelcome though they may be, they contrasted against his dark eyelashes and pale freckled nose nicely as they fell, rolling off of his clothing like the rain it should have been. Hills gathered in the distance, comparing snowy white winter coats. The sky was a light blue over the clouds that blocked the sun from giving even the tiniest morsel of warmth onto the freezing individual. His shoes crunched the snow atop the rocky pavement as he strolled, looking for anywhere to sit so that she may not find him.

And there it stood. It was a simple thing, really, but it could not be more welcome. A shining silver trash can stood, guarding the house it belonged to from the driveway. The top was off and on the ground, and inside it was empty and clean. With a _swish_ of his white jeans, he hopped inside and made himself comfortable. Inside it was warm and small, just the same as it had been when he was home. From the opening where the lid was supposed to be, more delicate snowflakes drifted towards him and landed in his hair, nearly matching the same white as the soft strands.

Cursing himself aloud, he realized that he had left his shades at the house. Orange eyes twitched with anger, revealed, as was a rare occurrence.

Fulfilling what he came to do, he began to think. He closed his eyes, knit his brows, and clasped his hands together. His nose twitched slightly when he would think about The Problem, and would flare when he would think solutions. To be honest with himself, he realized that it twitching more rather than flaring. At least he was _attempting_ to solve it.

Unbeknownst to him, large green shoes were slowly making their way towards the bin, dragging trash behind them. The shoes and the owner of them tossed the bag in rather uncarefully.

The teen inside made a (totally manly) scream and began to flail unsuccessfully, causing a loud ruckus.

"Goodness gracious!" peeped the trash-owner. He threw the bag out and onto the driveway and then looked inside the bin. "Hello?" he asked carefully. The man inside met his gaze.

"Uh… Hey," he gulped.

"Um… What are you doing in my cousin's trash-bin?" the man's accent lightened the statement.

"… Thinking." his own Texan accent garbled his speech in such an echoing environment.

"… Why?" neither man spoke proudly, after all, this was a rather awkward predicament.

"'Cause my brain said to,"

"No, why are you thinking in a trash can?"

"Dunno. I used to back home in Texas, so I decided to here." he paused. "Sorry, I'll get out," the man began to struggle slightly, becoming more and more flustered with every movement. The can shook about, following the writhe body's movements. The man then looked at the other (slightly confused) one, pink tinting his cheeks. "Uh… I'm stuck."

"Oh dear," he tsked, running his hand through his hair. "Alright, take my hands." he stuck his arms into the bin uncomfortably. The man held on with a loose grip. The man with the green shoes began to tug.

He laughed a bit.

"What?"

"You're really light,"

"Yeah, that can be attributed to a high metabolism, pizza and Chinese takeout twice a day for the last sixteen years of my life."

"Really? Your parents let you do that?"

"My brother, actually. He kind of forces me to. He's a loser when it comes to chores and things,"

"Do your parents do the chores, then?"

"No. I do." the young man toppled out of the trashcan. He dusted off his knees and stood up, cracking his back. "Well, thanks, and sorry for being a bother."

"You're welcome and it's absolutely not a problem, Mr…?" the man with the green shoes (who turned out to be taller than the other) asked.

"Dirk. Dirk Strider."

"Well then, hopefully I'll see you again, Mr. Strider.

"Hopefully," Dirk set off on a trek to the park about three blocks away. The snow blew upwards towards his face, and he regretted leaving as fast as he did without his glasses or a scarf. He bit his lip as the cold reached around it, sniffing harshly. He reached his destination and sat down on the bench. A large series of _crunch_es sounded behind him. He turned around.

"Um, yes?" it was the man from earlier.

"Oh, sorry, I just… Do you have somewhere to stay, Mr. Strider?" he scuffed his shoe against the hidden pavement.

"Yes, but my friend is drunk out of her wits and I'd rather not go back right now." Dirk let his head fall over the top of the bench.

"You could… You could stay with me? My cousin is a sweetheart and wouldn't mind a bit. And it's absolutely freezing right now and you're hardly dressed for it!" the man thought about his question and blushed. "I'm not a creeper or anything, really! You don't have to say yes!"

"That would be nice, actually, Mr…?"

"Jake English. Now come along before we chill to the bone!" Jake pushed him towards the house.

**(If this were a one-shot, that's where I would end it, so if you only wanna read a one-shot, stop here.)**

"Hey hey hey! Why are you being so abrupt all of the sudden?" Dirk stumbled.

"Because we've already made the agreement, so I'm not required to be nice to you." Jake looked at him. "You're also very short."

"Whoa, slow down, just because we made the agreement doesn't mean I can't take it away!"

"Yes it does." Jake giggled behind his hand. "Shorty,"

"Okay, first, I know you're not from around here and probably don't know the implications of the word 'shorty', and second, you are like, no more than half a foot taller than me!"

"Oh really, chap?" Jake got on his knees and looked Dirk in the eye. "Now we are the same height. That is over two feet!" he stood up again and brushed off his knees. "You are so short!"

"I am not!" they reached the house. "You're just… Really tall!" Jake opened the door and beckoned Dirk inside.

"Look, I'll get my cousin. She's five foot one; if you're shorter than her, admit defeat." Dirk and Jake shook hands, closing the deal. "Jane!" yelled the taller of the two.

"Yes?" called a sweet voice from upstairs.

"Get down here please!" she complied and ran downstairs.

"Oh, who's this?"

"He's my new pal! He's going to stay the night," smiled Jake. "His name is Dirk! Okay, now I need you to stand back to back with him, feet flat on the ground." they did so and Jake ran off, coming back with a ruler. He placed it atop Dirk's head. "Three inches!" he laughed loudly. "Dirk, you must sit in the corner of shame, she's three inches taller than you! You're four foot nine!" Dirk pouted.

"No fair! Why am I always the short one?"

"Becau-,"

"Jake,"

"Hmm?"

"That was rhetorical."

"Oh."

**(Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Should I continue this? Tell me and I will!**

**Here are some big things about this story:**

**Dirk is staying with Roxy for a month and left because her drinking was scaring him a bit**

**Jake is staying with Jane for a year while his grandma is out exploring**

**DirkJake all the way, man**

**Yes, Dirk is so freaking short (I'm using some headcannons from timaeustestifiedofficial on Tumblr. Quality art, check them out!)**

**Some disclaimers:**

**I do not own Homestuck**

**I do own this idea**

**And the crappy cover art that I drew in like nine seconds**

**Do not pull strangers out of garbage cans (They are probably hobos. Instead of taking hobos from trashcans and throwing them in the street or something, consider reading my other story Dave the Vagabond to calm your hobo feelings ****_*shameless self promo*_****)**

**Do not invite strangers into your home**

**Do not go into a strangers home**

**Do not sit in trash cans**

**Do not fight Dirk Strider (He can use swords)**

**Do not leave drunk Roxys at home unattended**

**Do not follow strangers to the park**

**Do not hate me for writing this**

**That is all.)**


End file.
